Chapter 3 #2
"You were doing more than that." I hesitated, then pushed forward because Max was right—I'd been hiding too long. "Can I buy you a drink?"
His eyes widened fractionally. Around us, his friends exchanged glances, and I could feel their curiosity like a physical weight.
"We’ve just ordered one," Cinder said quietly.
The rejection shouldn't have stung as much as it did. I nodded, already stepping back. "Right. Of course. I just wanted to—"
"Wait." He stood abruptly, nearly knocking his chair over. "I didn't mean—" He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Can we talk? Somewhere quieter?"
Hope flared in my chest, dangerous and bright. "Yeah. Yes."
He said something to his friends I didn't catch, then followed me back toward the VIP section. Max caught my eye as we passed and gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up that I pretended not to see.
There was a small balcony off the VIP area, barely big enough for two people when one of them was me, but mercifully empty. I held the door open and Cinder stepped through, immediately wrapping his arms around himself against the cold.
Without thinking, I shrugged out of my jacket and offered it to him.
He stared at it like I'd offered him something dangerous. "You'll freeze."
"I run warm," I said, which was true enough. Dragons always did. Unless you were an ice dragon and trying to protect yourself.
He took the jacket slowly, pulling it on, and mercifully didn't comment on the contradictory statement. It was too big on him, swallowing his frame, and something possessive and entirely inappropriate stirred in my chest at the sight.
"Your knee," he said after a moment. "It's healed."
"Yeah."
More confusion creased his face. "That's fast."
I leaned against the railing, looking out at the city lights instead of at him.
I shrugged. I wasn’t worried. Nothing would show on any scan.
"I’ve always healed quickly." I looked at him then.
He was watching me with that same careful intensity he'd had at the arena, like he was trying to solve a puzzle I hadn't given him all the pieces to.
“You’re doing incredibly well.” He shook his head, then looked up and winced almost apologetically. “Look, I promised myself when I started this job I wouldn’t get involved socially with anyone at work.”
I stared at him, trying to understand what he was saying beneath what he was actually saying. His body language screamed conflict—arms wrapped tight around himself despite my jacket, shoulders hunched like he was bracing for a hit.
"I see," I said quietly, though I didn't. Not really. But it was for the best. I had too many secrets myself.
"It's not—" He stopped, jaw working like he was chewing on words he couldn't quite spit out. "You seem like a good guy. I just can't."
The finality in his voice settled over me like fresh snow—cold, heavy, inevitable.
I nodded, pushing off the railing. "I understand. I shouldn't have assumed."
"Taranis—"
"It's fine," I said, and managed something that probably looked like a smile. "Really. I appreciate what you did yesterday. That's all I wanted to say. No big deal." He shrugged out of the jacket and silently handed it back.
I clasped it, then turned before he could respond, before the rejection could sink in deeper than it already had. The door back into the VIP section felt miles away instead of a few feet.
Behind me, I heard him say my name again, softer this time, but I didn't stop.
Max took one look at my face when I returned and his grin evaporated. "What happened?"
"Nothing." I grabbed my drink and downed half of it in one go. "He's not interested in meeting anyone from work ‘socially.’”
"Taz—"
"Drop it, Max."
He frowned then took in my expression. “Oh fuck. You don’t know.”
I looked at him. "Know what?"
Max pulled out his phone, fingers moving quickly across the screen while I tried very hard to pretend I wasn't watching Cinder's silhouette through the frosted glass as he made his way back to his friends.
He turned his phone toward me, expression shifting from confused to comprehending to almost mad at himself. "I forget you still think your phone is just for calling people."
"Know what?" I repeated, not taking the phone.
"About him. About what happened." Max's voice had gone careful, the way it did when he was navigating something delicate. "Taz, he's not turning you down because he's not gay or isn't into you. Well," he added, "you're not bad to look at."
My chest tightened. "Then why?"
Max hesitated, then pulled up an article dated five months ago. The headline made my stomach drop.
Hospital's Fatal Mistake: Inside the Tragedy That Shocked Denver Emergency Medicine.
I skimmed it, each paragraph worse than the last. A child. A hesitant resident. A nurse who'd documented everything, done everything right, and still watched a little girl die. And then—
"His boyfriend wrote it," Max said quietly. "Used everything Cinder told him in confidence. Named him specifically. Made it sound like Cinder was giving him an exclusive, and Cinder got fired immediately for breaching confidentiality."
My hands tightened around the phone. "That's—"
"Yeah." Max took it back, pocketing it. "I’ll bet the hospital needed a scapegoat to avoid a lawsuit. His boyfriend got a promotion out of the story. And Cinder lost everything. He knew Nancy, and she recommended him for the team medic job."
I looked back toward where Cinder sat with his friends, saw the careful way he held himself, the brittle edges of his smile. Saw someone who'd been betrayed by the person who was supposed to protect him.
No wonder he'd said he couldn't get involved. It wasn't about interest. It was about survival.
"Fuck," I breathed.
"Yeah," Max agreed. "So maybe don't take it personally?"
I didn't. Not anymore. Now I just felt something else entirely—something protective and fierce that shouldn't be a thing after one conversation and a medical examination.
But it existed anyway, coiling tight in my chest alongside the dragon that hadn’t stirred for anyone in years.
I watched him through the glass, this man who'd been gentle with me when I was vulnerable, who'd documented everything to protect himself because he'd learned the hard way what happened when you didn't.
And I made a decision that was probably stupid, definitely reckless, but felt more right than anything had in a long time.
I wasn't giving up.
Not yet, anyway.